


The Winter of 1776(7)

by cattlaydee



Series: i'll make a million mistakes [3]
Category: American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander Hamilton is George Washington's Biological Son, Gen, POV Multiple, Washingdad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 13:42:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11209260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cattlaydee/pseuds/cattlaydee
Summary: When Martha Washington comes to camp, she does so with the knowledge that her husband's illegitimate son is serving on his staff. She doesn't know quite how to handle that.But she figures it out.summary edit: the author can't count, and the title has changed. no content has.





	The Winter of 1776(7)

Martha surveyed the camp. This wouldn't be the first time she'd visited, nor would it be the last. The trees had begun to bare, and the air was getting chillier in a way that had sharpened in the evening, the scent of rotting woods seeping into it. She pulled her coat tighter with a sigh and prepared to exit the carriage as it began to slow outside of what she assumed to be the home her husband's team would have been occupying for this stay.

She had received his letter regarding the newest appointee to his staff weeks ago, and she'd known then that she would need to see him soon. _Alexander Hamilton_ , he'd written, _a young man hailing from the islands, smart, shrewd, brave, loyal..._

 _Son_ , had never been penned. And she had known and loved George long enough to be able to read between the lines.

_My dearest, you are too far away._

It was so clear to her, even with the time and distance between then and now. She remembered the night George had visited her in the weeks before they were to be married, after he’d returned from his business in the islands. She remembered that he'd appeared sallow, and drawn and bereft, and that she had grown anxious to what could possibly had caused it, had worried that perhaps he had changed his mind regarding their union. And she remembered how he had sat down in her parlor, with tea and cake, and taken her hand in his own gloved one and gently explained the predicament.

A child of his own with an old paramour. A child who was taken care of, that would not want from him unless something disastrous occurred, a child that had been declared to have a father already, and that George had been told he was not needed. She had pretended not to notice how that had obviously troubled him, for he was a good man with children and obviously enjoyed them, and it had only grown more difficult as they had attempted to add to their own family and had been unable to, for whatever reason.

His visit that night, so many years ago, had only further endeared him to her, much to his surprise. She had not been in love with George then, and would still not fall so deeply for him for some time, but this had been part of the beginning; to trust. To be honorable and truthful enough in that moment, when he could have hidden the secret away. He had apparently been expecting her to toss him aside, to find someone else because there may come a time, slim as it was, that he would be called upon to help a wayward child----his bastard.

She knew of and appreciated the social orders of the world, as she had often found herself benefitting from a high station, but the word bastard still left her feeling uneasy. She was quite aware of how bastards were received, how people talked about them with sly looks at one another, whispers behind hands and wry little laughs.

At the very least, she knew how cruel it was, how unfair to cast a child in such a rank before they’d had a chance to make their own way in the world without the stain of it.

The young man greeting her now was not one she had seen before and she found herself growing nervous. She had expected Tallmadge, or Tighlman, or Harrison, but this one was short and lean, with jet black hair tied back in a queue and a smattering of facial hair that Martha was surprised to see given George’s strict requirements of when it came to how the men presented themselves. As she came into view, he offered her a gentle smile and she had a dawning realization.

Why would George have sent him out before she'd had a moment to speak with him on it?

The unfamiliar aide appeared to notice her confusion and smiled softly. "Tench sends his love, but he was taken by something at the last moment and I was sent in his stead. A poor consolation, I know, but I had a few free moments. The General was hoping he would not miss your arrival, but he too, was taken with the most pressing of business." He offered an arm. "Lt Colonel Alexander Hamilton, at your service ma'am."

She returned the smile and nodded her thanks, placing her own hand over his closed fist and letting him help her on to the muddy ground. She withdrew her touch as they began to walk, pulling her shawl close around her. She was aware of the eyes on them, of everyone watching them walk towards the house as her carriage was unloaded by the help.

“And how was your trip, ma’am?”

“Quite well, Colonel Hamilton, thank you for asking.” She looked over at him. He was facing forward, his head bent as they walked, the small smile still on his face. “And how is your new lodging treating yourself and the rest of General Washington’s camp?”

He looked up her then, and she could see how tired he was, but the smile never fell from his face. “The accommodations are outstanding, ma’am. Quite better than what the boys out in the field have found themselves in, especially.”

She knew he was lying; even if it hadn’t been for George’s letters, she could hear it in his voice and see it on his wan face. He bounded up the stone steps as they approached the home and held the door for her, bowing as she entered the home.

He led her up the stairs to the second floor where the door was opened and she could see her trunk had already been left. They’d made quick work of it, she thought to herself, and noted how Hamilton stayed well outside the room with an arm outstretched, imploring her to enter.

“His Excellency will be along shortly, Ma’am. As i’ve said, he’s in with another of the boys and it’s thought to be urgent. He sends his greatest apologies. One of the help will be by shortly to light the fire for you.”

“Thank you, Colonel Hamilton. You have been most gracious.”

She wasn’t certain that she’d imagined it, but she could swear he turned pink. He nodded with a shaky smile and brushed past her, heading back down the stairs and into a common parlor area where she could only guess he’d join the other young men to continue their work.

He didn’t look like George. Fairer skin and shorter, a more slight build, but his eyes were a deep brown and there was something in the way the corner of his mouth curled when he smiled in a clever way…

She closed her eyes against the thought, pressing a hand to her chest and sighing deeply. A child, she’d thought. _George’s, child._

And of course, George had not told him; maybe, would never tell him. Despite the intimate knowledge of her husband’s reserved nature, she also knew that this environment was much too delicate a balance to disrupt with such drama, and she had known it clear when his following letters had not mentioned their connection either.

She sat in an armchair by the hearth, and as Alexander had promised, a slave arrived, firewood and flint in hand, another behind him with a platter of tea and biscuits. She nodded her thanks and bent over her needle and thread, and she began to hum, distracting herself by musing on how Jackie must be faring going into the winter months as she awaited her husband’s arrival.

It was almost time for supper when she finally heard a knock at the door. She set her stitchwork in her lap and folded her hands in her lap. “Come in.”

Her husband’s face was tinged pink, indicating he’d been out in the cold, and when he finally lifted his head to look at her full on, she saw it soften from a stony facade and his shoulders relaxed. He smiled wanly. “Hello, my dear.”

She rose and set her work on the side table, walking over to him and taking his hands in her own. “George your hands are like ice. Come sit down by the fire with me and warm yourself.” But before she led the way, she grabbed at his cravat, tugging on it for him to lower his head. His smiled brightened and he did just that, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, drawing a smile from her as well.

“I have missed you so very much, I cannot put it to words.” He said softly and she pulled him close to her.

“And I you. Now come. Sit. I will ring for some tea.”

As they situated by the fire and waited for fresh cups of tea, he first begged her pardon as to how she was received. It was wholly uncommon, as usually he had his entire staff there to greet her. Each would introduce themselves and give a little nod, and if she were completely honest, she felt it a bit much but George enjoyed a little ceremony to maintain decorum so she merely smiled and nodded back. The boys were always respectful and kind, and the youngest of them always seemed happy to have a guest in the house.

He followed the apology with an additional one, this time directed at their lodging; there was no mention of the steward who’d brought her into the home. It was a fine home; but as she had made her way up the front path and briefly surveyed the camp, she could see it was more bare bones than it had been the year previous. Inside, there were fewer trunks and coats and muskets laying about. The quilt on her bed had appeared well made but the room itself remained fairly bare of other amenities. His letters had warned her plenty; they were direly short of supplies, the morale was not as high as he’d have liked and they did not seem to be on the winning side of this conflict.

She could see it in his face. Not defeat, not yet; George was a fighter if he were anything, but his skin was chapped by the encroaching winter season, and his cheekbones were more pronounced than they had ever been in the time she had known him. He seemed tired.

Billy Lee entered the room with another fresh pot of tea and poured them both a cup as he informed them that supper would be set within the half hour. George thanked him for it and asked him for privacy until then, which Billy Lee obliged and left, closing the door behind him. Martha glanced back it, satisfied that they were truly alone and surely to be undisturbed for some time.

“Colonel Hamilton seems like quite a young man. Polite. Well met.” She offered.

He winced at the boys mention, swallowing his tea with an unusually undignified slurp. He frowned deeper, wiping at his mouth. “You know, I am not one to dally with excuses but please, also, accept my utmost apologies for that as well. I had informed them I was to be undisturbed, I did not expect you until the sun had set. He was the only free hand available…”

“He was the perfect gentleman. Just as you prefer your staff to conduct themselves.” She paused. “Are you alright, love?”

He cleared his throat, sitting up straighter. “He is exceptional in his duties. Mind like a whet stone. Sharp tongue but he has a way with his words that sways the people’s hearts and minds.” And then smiled, the unconscious smile Martha loved the most, the one he only gave when he could not keep it in, and she saw him swallow. “He works very hard, and he’s very headstrong. Independant.”

He continued on to explain their long hours, and how the rest of aides de camp fell into their places on his staff. Tench, his oldest serving and closest, most loyal aide; Harrison, and Baylor, and Trumbull, one after the other, each with a tender short tale for each, but none that seemed to draw his fondness, or a wistful tone, as Hamilton’s name did.

"You didn't answer my question." She interjected, fixing him with a gentle stare. "Are you alright?"

He paused in his meanderings and sighed deeply. His shoulders sagged and his torso seemed to fold a bit and he shook his head in a confused way. He lifted his tea once more, pausing just before he sipped, and pressed his lips together.

"I cannot tell if I am keeping the information from him for selfish or unselfish reasons." He shrugged, and crossed his legs. "There is so much we have to do, and this sort of thing, it just doesn't have a place right now with everything else we are facing. It would only serve as a distraction, and to be quite honest...I'm not sure that he would care."

 _Oh George_. She reached out and placed a hand on his arm, and he turned to look at her for a quiet moment. He set the cup down and brought his hand to cover her own.

"I've missed you so these past months. I'm so grateful for these visits." She smiled. “He was nothing but polite and proficient in his duties. I only spent a few moments, but he seems like a wonderful young man, George. I think however you choose to address the issue...well. You’ve always been able to resolve difficult situations.”

He said nothing in response, but bowed his head. "He is an exceptional member of our staff. He had made himself indispensable."

He studied her husband as he looked up to her and began to talk about troop movements and supplies, the sudden change in subject telling. He didn't know what to do about Hamilton, she quickly realized, didn't even know what _he_ wanted to do, rather than what he should do. She didn't pity him the decision either. Did foregoing such a thing mean you couldn't reclaim it later? Did certain circumstances warrant---nay, _require_ , such truths?

She’d tried not to think too much on it when they were first married and he had never spoken about it to her. She was always able to tell, though, when George had received a letter from the islands about the boy. Always noticed when he’d picked up extra trinkets, tin soldiers or books or writing pads as gifts, always noticed when he seemed a little more bright after receiving the mail. When the letters has stopped a few years into their marriage, it had taken him over a year to tell her that the woman had chosen to cut ties completely. She could not completely deny that she had not been disappointed. Perhaps now the boy could be left in the past. He had a father and a family and a home. He was taken care of. And if he ever wasn’t….

Well. She hadn’t heard, yet, how he’d turned up in the colonies, unbeknownst to George. And there was something in the way he had winced at the mention of the boys name...something in the way Hamilton had looked, as if he’d always been hungry and sharp and prepared in a way pampered children never had a need to be. No, something...something had happened. But that was probably a story for another day.

She looked back up at George’s weathered expression. For now though...she had pressed the thought of the boy away for so long but now times were different. And as long as he worried about Hamilton, as long as he worried about any of them, not just his aides, but the men in the field, or the countrymen and women counting on his army to succeed, the less he would be able to focus on the task at hand and that was surviving this war and coming home to her in one piece. She glanced down to the stitching. She’d been darning socks and mittens these past few months in preparation for what the Almanac predicted would be a dreadful winter. But would that be enough?

George turned to look at her, the firelight illuminating the right side of his face as he looked at her, and he appeared uncertain and nervous and unknowing. Her grip on his arm tightened and with her free hand, she brought her hand to his jaw line and ran a bent finger under it there. His eyes half closed and he hummed at the sensation, and she leaned in and kissed him softly, holding for just a moment, just to savor this, the thing she’d been deprived of for so many months…

A knock at the door. A clearing of the throat. Billy Lee entered, though he had his face turned towards the ground and his side to them.

“General. Lady Washington. Supper has been set and your presence has been requested.”

George let out an exaggerated, weary sigh, and when she opened her eyes to look up at him, she was surprised to find a slight smile on his face. “I suppose, Lady Washington, we are obligated to serve.”

She bit back a laugh. George was bound by social contract, and so was she, but they had been apart for many months and if they wanted to forgo a meal to spend time together…

But her thought from minutes before came back to her, and she was reminded she was not just a wife to a farmer any longer, but to a General of these Armies. And so, she let go of his arm with a squeeze, and he rose from his chair and offered her his hand and she took it without hesitation.

 _Lady Washington._ She could be that. He bent his arm as an offer, and rested her arm on top of it, and she followed from the room and towards the stairs.

She could be that, and anything else. For him.

* * *

 

The news that Martha Washington would be visiting had made it’s way around camp like wildfire. There was a lightness, Alexander realized, to anyone who discovered the news and a smile earned when it was shared. He had frowned in confusion; while he was sure she was a pleasant woman, he failed to see how a single person’s presence could inspire such good will, especially that of a woman's, unless her visit was tied to the arrival of fresh food and supplies, which he doubted.

He had offered a half smile when the General had announced her visit in the common room with a grin. Most of the other aides had laughed or loudly rejoiced. He’d not understood it, but tried to convey an appreciation. It would be nice, to have a lady around.

“D’ya think she’ll bring some of that bread we like?” Baylor asked. “That sweet bread? Maybe some meat?.”

Harrison chuckled in response. “Don’t know that even Lady Washington can do that, George, but perhaps we can hope.”

Alexander had stopped listening. He was sure she was kind. But he had greater things to concern himself with. This letter, for example; other measures of correspondence, some initiatives and arguments for Congress. He could not entertain any kinds of idle thoughts. If one as proactive, they would find there was always work to be accomplished.

And so, he was dispirited when word came that the General was occupied at the last minute before his wife would arrive. That Tilghman was also. That it would fall on Alexander to greet the lady. He also knew that the General would be surly to have missed his wife’s arrival.

He was looking forward to none of these things.

She had looked him up and down appraising. She had climbed down from that carriage at the help of his hand, clearly confused for but a moment before she’d worked through the issue before he could explain. He still did, of course, but she had merely smiled softly and offered a half nod at the offer of his arm and allowed him to walk her into a private parlor, where he made sure she was comfortable before he left her alone to be met by His Excellency.

He continued his letter writing, indulged in a few rounds of ale with Tench and Harrison while discussing their current state, and then allowed himself to go to bed a few hours later than what should have been considered reasonable. He had not met the Lady Washington privately again, though he’d felt her eyes on him more than once; she and the General had retired to their quarters shortly after dinner, but they had shared some casual small talk around dinner, which had been accompanied, much to Baylor’s joy, by sweet bread. It had been delicious.

He found himself thinking of her in passing while he fell asleep. She smiled sweetly when she looked upon their General. Alexander wondered what that could mean; what the man could be outside of the general’s tent and the central command. What he was outside his placid public exterior, outside of those occasional rages in private where he would yell about the Congress, and about insidious plans outside their control, about their lack of resources, all of which Alexander had begun to grow tired of.

And so, as the few weeks of her stay began, he wrote. He remained quietly thankful of how the presence of Martha Washington tempered her husband's behavior. He appreciated how her mere presence eased His Excellency’s mind and how he was more relaxed knowing she was on the grounds.

The plans were to have her stay for a few months time, until the thaw set in and the wars efforts resumed. Alexander was conscious of her company, but aside from mere pleasantries, he rarely engaged in little more than polite, brief discussions and answered her questions as was appropriate, were they to be asked.

While her presence was not entirely unpleasant, he had still begun to grow somewhat irritable when it came to how she doted on those in her husband's service and even outside of it. It was not unheard of for women to serve men in the hospital tent, but she’d also begun to make a habit of visiting tents throughout the camp. While the majority of the men were respectful, there was always the opportunity that dwindling supplies and less than favorable circumstances could lend some to camp fever or madness. The General, unwilling to take any chances regarding the safety of a most cherished wife, would then assign her a chaperone from his own staff, which only meant they were a man short in the effort to accomplish other tasks.

But Alexander appreciated the kindness shown by Martha Washington and understood how important it was for the men to feel taken care of, to be doted on, especially when facing such harrowing odds. He was not unaware of their dire straits; on the contrary, he was sickeningly familiar with the baleful wails emanating from tents and bunkhouses, from the hospital, and had he himself felt the too familiar gnawing in his gut of hunger.

She was a balm for certain, but one he grew too quickly tired of. The occasional concern was appreciated, but sometimes he felt harangued or overly bothered, and so he began to even hold back an acknowledgement, too deep in his work to notice her flitting around.

“Alexander, would you like some more tea?” She’d asked one night, stopping by his desk when all the other aides had put themselves to bed. She had been kind enough to not comment on his long hours, as the others so often rankled him about. She’d merely smiled softly, and craned her neck in such a way that appeared she was fond of him, that his work amused her but also made her proud. The small smile and the way the skin around her eyes crinkled…

_“Alexander, your letters are coming along so well!”_

He’d had a mother once. He did not need one again, and he’d pushed the memory of Maman away with a forceful and abrupt declination of the offered refreshment more ardently than he’d meant to, and he had seen it in her expression---the surprise and perhaps even a hint of hurt. She’d only been trying to help after all.

He did not care for charity, though. He did not care to give any indication he could not wholly survive on his own, for it was all he’d been doing for a very long time. The gifts, though the thought was valued and appreciated, were unnecessary, and something he could not make the mistake of becoming accustomed to receiving.

She’d recovered quickly enough. “Alright then. Well. You’d best not keep at it too much longer. Every day brings fresh challenges.”

He voiced no response. Instead, he only offered a sharp nod and a tight smile, before bowing back over the work and resuming his scribbles. He wondered, as she left the room, if she would tell the General. He was not overly concerned though; the General himself was prone to moments of irritability, and Alexander was certain he would only need to beg his and the Lady’s pardon and apologize.

Just...not now. Not when he had to get this last bit of work finished.

Chastisement never came. Instead, Lady Washington carried on as she’d always had. Still offering him tea, and sweet bread, and darned socks or gloves.

He’d turned all of it away with a genuine expression of thanks but no, even when all the others took them with a gentle smile. He could support himself just fine; he would tell no one, but he knew how to stitch and sew and make old things new again, and he preferred his own hand to others.

He’d believed that he shared all of these concerns discreetly enough with the other boys. He’d believed that they had almost, in someway, agreed (although Baylor had only rolled his eyes and huffed a cough). He’d believed they’d at least appreciated the way  _he_ felt about the whole situation, how he’d valued his self reliance.

But today. Today it was quite obvious they had not done anything of the sort.

They were nowhere to be found. Not even Tench, usually steadfastly at his service everyday, was nowhere to be seen. As if they’d devised a plot to abandon him for the afternoon!

He’d at least attempt to take advantage of the silence. He spirited himself away to a further, smaller room in the home, and cracked the door so he was barely able to be perceived. He’d believed he would be indiscernible.

He’d been wrong.

The rest of the rooms had been occupied, closed up and locked for privacy or for some other use unbeknownst to him. The parlor, however, was sparse, and available, and so he headed down, eager and relieved, only to find the Lady Washington sitting in an armchair close to the fire. She offered him a smile as he stood in the entryway.

“Colonel Hamilton, if it please you---is it alright if I stay? I expect you have much to take care of, but my husband and his men have not yet returned from their ride and the view of the fields and the snow are…” She paused. “Well, they remind me of home.”

It was not at all an unreasonable request, for he had impeccable abilities to drown out distractions and focus when he needed, and besides; there was no need, truly, to deny or attempt to deny Lady Washington.

After a few hours time, he rose to take himself out back for relief, and returned to find a cup of tea on his desk. Though he’d not asked for it, he thanked her in passing. It must have been delivered half-heartedly, because within a few moments, she cleared her throat.

“Do you believe, Colonel Hamilton, that I aspire to mother you and your friends to victory?”

He froze at the question, his quill stilled by the words. Her tone consisted of genuine curiosity, without any air of irritation or hostility. He chanced a glance at her across the room near the hearth where she sat, a shawl around her shoulder as her skirt pooled at her feet. She sighed and shifted, and grabbed at her threadwork, frowning as she identified a knot and began to work it free. She was not even looking at him.

“I.., Lady Washington. Your efforts and contributions in this camp are very welcome, appreciated, and invaluable....”

“That was not what I asked.”

He frowned again. “You are not just some matronly salve, if that’s what you insinuate, but you do offer some relief...”

“Ah well.” She peered up at him finally with a smirk, gesturing with her thread; she managed the knot and commenced with her work. “I will take that as a yes.”

“Ma’am, I mean no disrespect…”

“And i don’t receive it as any. Believe me, young man, since this whole mess has started, I have been called or insinuated as far worse.”

Hamilton flushed, having read the papers. The things the British suggested alone about the General, and by extension his wife, were terrible; but even on the side of the Rebels, when things did not go well? Both names were sometimes bandied about with derision.

“When I cannot be with him, I survive on his letters alone.” She continued, after a brief pause for effect. “I cannot imagine many of you think of what that is like and I don’t blame any of you for it, you have far greater concerns. But...every time a post comes to the door. Everytime a bell rings out of turn, I have to wonder.” She looked him straight on, and there was no malice in her face; only concern. “Will he come home? Is he alright? Is he being mindful of himself or is he being the George Washington so few people know?” And she broke off into a laugh at the last part, looking back down at her lap and working once more at the stitching with a shake of her head. “I’ve known him long enough, and well enough, to know his disposition. If he is tired, or frustrated, or angry. And I know that those states can affect him, and how they will affect him.”

She tied off the last stitch and pulled at the finished gloves, surveying them with a careful eye. She thumbed at the seam, frowning a bit as she pulled at where the cloth met before she relaxed, satisfied it would hold. She looked up at Alexander with a smile and rose, gloves in hand, and grabbed a candle with the other free hand. She started towards him, and for some reason, his gut seized. He swallowed.

“And so…” She began. “This is not merely an act of charity, or feigned maternity, but of survival. And so you will take my gloves, and the tea, and any other kindness, because I know you understand, Colonel Hamilton, in ways I never will, that war is hard. And I intend to lighten that load, if I am capable.” She smiled. “If my husbands survival depends on how well you and the rest of his staff can fulfill your duties, then I will do my part to support that effort, and I will not be chastised or looked down upon it as if i’m a dithering old maid.” She raised her brow. “Am I understood?”

He opened his mouth to answer, finding it dry as a desert. “Yes, of course. Lady Washington.” He rasped. “I would never…”

“I know you would not.” She set the gloves down and patted his arm. In any other setting, he would find it patronizing and jerk away, but he kept still now. “You’re quite the remarkable young man. My husband speaks quite highly of you.”

He flushed at the words, and the look in her eyes as she scanned him from above made the hair on his arms prickle underneath his wool shirt. She was examining him, as if a thing to be wary of. He ducked his head and cleared his throat. “Your ladyship is too kind.

She opened her mouth as if to correct him, but stopped herself. She had by now removed her hand from his forearm and was crossing her arms, adjusting the shawl to bring it closer to her shoulders. She appeared satisfied, and she smiled. “I hope you know how I appreciate your dedication to my husband, young man. All of your dedication. I don’t intend you to feel chastised.”

He did, slightly so. But he would not say it. “It is quite truly an honor to serve the General, ma’am. He is a great man.”

Women and men alike had told him that his face was sometimes easy to read, but he was not concerned, because the statement could not be more true. The General's rages and sometimes slow deliberations annoyed him, but there was no one more well suited for the task, save for perhaps himself, to win this war. As Martha looked on at him, she softened more.

“So I believe. You’ll forgive me, Colonel Hamilton, for my caution.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

They stayed there still. Hamilton watched her as she shifted and her pursed lips moved and then...

“Thank you Colonel Hamilton. I will see you when the dawn breaks.” She curtseyed, and she smiled at him. “Good night.”

He watched her go, sitting in silence and candleight for a moment. He picked up his quill with one hand and with the other, grabbed the gloves and set them in his lap so as not to forget them.

He supposed, for the Lady Washington, his pride could make some concessions.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If this seems disjointed and uncertain, it was intentional. I hope you guys liked it...laying the groundwork for this relationship for the remainder of the series. Thanks for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr ](http://cattlaydee.tumblr.com)


End file.
